


Just Connor

by wardenmages



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank loves all of his autistic sons, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardenmages/pseuds/wardenmages
Summary: Since becoming a deviant, Connor has noticed certain things bothering him that didn't impact him before. After a friendly suggestion and a fair amount of research, he makes a decision and learns how to live with it. After all, how many autistic androids can there be?Series of one-shots about Connor, RK800-60 (Sixty), and RK900 (Nines).Update 4/2/2019: Story will also include chapters about Nines and Sixty now.





	1. Discovery - Connor

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first DBH fic!! Just a series of one-shots about a good autistic robo boy!!
> 
> I'm leaving this open because I do plan on continuing it. Tags will also be added over time as characters/relationships become relevant. I just didn't want to put a bunch on now and regret it later as it never updated to include them. There is not set schedule due to my ongoing long project for Dragon Age, but I am going to try to get one out once per week!
> 
> Update 4/2/2019: For Autism Acceptance Month, I will be updating this with chapters about RK800-60 and RK900 as well. The few chapters I have written up so far do not include ships which is why there aren't any tagged yet, since I haven't decided which ones will be included. Most likely Connor/Markus/Simon, and Sixty/North. (Not sure yet for Nines, but it won't be Reed900, sorry!)

The one thing Connor doesn’t like about deviancy - well, one of a few things, but this one is the biggest - is just _how much_ he feels things. His processors take in more data than most androids because he needed to have a higher level of awareness. The massive amount of sensory input never used to bother him though.

Well. That wasn’t true. When he thinks about past spikes of input like this, it feels just as awful and frustrating. It just didn’t upset him back then because it literally _couldn’t_ ; he didn’t have emotions to attach to it. It was just a distracting warning in the corner of his vision that he ignored until it went away.

Now, he can’t stand crowds, he needs sunglasses to cover his optical sensors when it’s too bright out, and most of the time he doesn’t like being touched without warning. He can’t focus if the room is too noisy. It’s all overwhelming and if he could experience pain, he would describe it as painful.

“Is there a way to turn your sensors down closer to our levels?” Simon asks one day.

Connor shakes his head. “It depends on the rest of my system status. It becomes much more sensitive if my stress levels are higher.”

“Oh. Okay.” He pauses. Connor almost wishes Simon still had his LED, because he can’t read the other android’s face. “What do you do when that happens? I mean, we should know so we can help.”

“Eventually the systems can’t keep up, so they stop. Speech and language programs go offline, and motor skills go to low-power mode to compensate for the loss of resources. It’s... unpleasant, and having emotions doesn’t help,” he admits. Simon nods.

“So, kind of like autism in humans?”

He tries running a search, but nothing of use comes up. CyberLife must not have found it important enough, which is a bit of an oversight considering his intended use as a negotiator who would need to know how to best approach any suspect.

His LED must be yellow, because Simon shifts in his seat as he explains. “It’s a developmental disorder. I’m guessing you searched and couldn’t find anything?”

Connor smiles awkwardly. “Yes.”

“When you’re home tonight, look into it. Maybe something there will help.”

“How did you know about it?”

Simon doesn’t reply at first. Connor realizes the moment the question is out that it has a rather obvious answer, and that it could lead to unpleasant memories. Simon never told him what he did before waking up, and never talks about it. He wants to take it back immediately; for all Cyberlife put into his social modules, he has trouble understanding the impact his words have. Often people take what he says in an entirely different way than he intended. He doesn’t want to offend his friend.

“The family I was with had a daughter who’s autistic,” Simon finally says, so soft most others would not hear. “She was living with her parents between jobs after college. She helped me run away when I woke up.”

Connor isn’t sure what to say, so he just nods. Simon smiles and for a few seconds, Connor’s thirium pump regulator speeds up. He doesn’t know why it does that.

(Yes, he does. He’s just afraid of admitting it. Just like he is afraid of admitting why the same thing happens when Markus smiles. He doesn’t want to ruin his friendships with them.)

 

“There are some other androids with similar experiences, if you want to talk to them,” Simon suggests. “They meet every Saturday at 10 in the morning in the community room.”

“Thank you.”

When he arrives back home at Hank’s house, he sits on the couch and looks it up. The small tablet in his hands has access to much more than his standard databases, making the search much easier. It takes some time to sort through the more useless results written by people even _he_ can tell have no idea what they are talking about, and he only heard of autism a few hours ago.

He puts together a list of accurate and helpful resources in half an hour, setting up a search filter to exclude the bad ones. The pieces fit together as he goes through diagnostic criteria and blogs and websites.

**Deficits in nonverbal communicative behaviors used for social interaction, ranging, for example, from poorly integrated verbal and nonverbal communication; to abnormalities in eye contact and body language or deficits in understanding and use of gestures; to a total lack of facial expressions and nonverbal communication.**

Hank makes comments to that effect about him frequently. He stares too long, doesn’t smile much and it looks off when he does. He can read expressions and body language if he devotes enough of his attention to it, but it takes a lot out of him, so he uses it sparingly. Hank says, at least twice a week, that if Connor didn’t still have his LED, he would have no idea how Connor feels.

_“Why’d they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?”_

_“CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice were specifically designed to facilitate my integration.”_

_“Well, they fucked up.”_

As a machine, it was to be expected to an extent. It isn’t an issue in most active models, but it was determined to be unnecessary for him. Outside of a crime scene, why would he need to understand other people? Before attempting to build a friendly relationship with Hank, why would he need to understand sarcasm, or show his emotions as facial expressions?

**Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements, use of objects, or speech.**

Connor thinks of the coin sitting in his jacket pocket. It was originally given to him to keep his motor skills sharp, and help him blend in so he wasn’t always standing completely still like a statue. It distracts him from his system’s warnings about sensory input, giving him something to focus on so he can clear his mind. Maybe that isn’t what the manual had in mind, but... It was similar.

**Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualized patterns of verbal or nonverbal behavior.**

Before becoming a deviant, he always had a mission, a list of tasks. His objectives changed, but the format was always the same. Now, he has none, because there is no one to give them. He builds his own to compensate, and keeps his schedule as regular as possible. It usually isn’t possible, considering his line of work, but he tries. Never too early, never too late, right on time down to the second. Markus likes to tease him that no one would ever be late if they just followed Connor.

The rest of the lists and blog descriptions fall into line perfectly. Obviously it doesn’t work like it does with humans - it can’t, quite literally - but it feels right. It explains things in a way humans can understand, that he can say to Hank and Hank will know what to do. And... having a name is somewhat of a relief.

He wants to tell Hank, but there is nothing in his archives and modules to help prepare him. Looking online again doesn’t help either. Maybe he can just leave some of his list open until Hank happens upon it?

This shouldn’t be so difficult.

He waits until later that night, when they’re watching baseball. It still takes forty-five minutes and twenty seconds to build up the courage to do it. Finally, as commercials take over the screen, he straightens his posture and takes a deep unnecessary breath.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks awkwardly.

Hank glances over then waves him on. “Be my guest.”

His verbal processors stutter to a stop. He’s on a time limit before the game comes back on, but it’s like breaking down his programming all over again. Hank is waiting patiently, like he always does, and Connor appreciates it far more than he could ever put into words.

“Simon suggested something earlier today and I have been researching since then, and I think I’ve come to a conclusion about something.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“It’s technically impossible and I don’t know how it could be happening. It’s not a malfunction, just an oversight made more obvious by deviancy, but-”

“Jesus Christ, Connor, what are you _talking about?”_

“I’m autistic.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. Connor counts them, his stress rising along with the number. Maybe he was wrong, and it is a malfunction. Or it’s ridiculous to compare himself to humans in this way. He wants to take it back already, and delete his lists, and-

“That makes sense now that you mention it,” Hank finally replies. Connor snaps his head to the side to look at him, and he can see the yellow of his LED reflecting off the television.

He furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Think about when you first came to harass me at the bar, and recited your damn _instructions_ to drag me to a crime scene.”

_You know where you can stick your instructions?_

**_No. Where?_ **

Oh. He had said that, hadn’t he? He understands now what Hank meant, but only because someone explained it. (North was explaining the complexities of sarcasm to him, so he showed her the memory to see if she could help. She laughed for a solid two minutes thirty-six seconds until she realized how embarrassed he was.)

“Oh,” he repeated out loud.

“Yeah, _oh_.”

“But it makes sense?”

Hank shrugged. “Yeah. Why not? I didn’t think it was even a thing for androids, but if it is, you’re the poster child.”

“I wish I knew that before I worried so much,” Connor mumbled. “I had a script ready for every possibility but this one.”

“A script? What, was it a fucking itemized list from the DSM?” At Connor’s silence, he snorted and took a swig from his can of soda. “Christ. Never change, kid.”

Connor let out a small smile. “I’ll try.”

“Got any ideas of where you wanna go from here?”

“Simon told me about a group of other androids in a similar situation. I’d like to go at least once to talk to them.”

“You plan on telling anyone else?”

He thought about it for a few moments. “I’m not sure. I believe at least some people at the precinct should know, in case any issues arise, but...”

Hank nodded. “Sounds good. Make up a list of what you want them to know and we’ll figure it out.”

“I haven’t thought of that part.”

“What about that list?”

Connor shrugged. He didn’t want to pass out the whole document. He certainly didn’t want to pass it out to _everyone._ Things had become easier around Gavin, but not so good that Connor was confident sharing such personal information with him.

“I honestly didn’t plan past telling _you_ ,” he admitted.

“Well, think about it, and let me know what you want me to do.”

Sumo wandered over, plopping his head in Connor’s lap. Connor couldn’t have hidden the smile on his face even if he wanted to as he scratched behind the big dog’s ears.

It isn’t a glitch, or a mistake. He isn’t broken. He’s just _Connor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked it!! The next one will (hopefully) be about North and Connor's friendship!


	2. Crash Course - Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is have a rough day, and goes to North for support.
> 
> Warning: Brief mention of suicide. Only one or two sentences talking about what can happen to Simon in "Public Enemy". He is revived later after the revolution, which is how he's still around for this story. Just so everyone knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want everyone who read/commented/gave kudos on the first chapter that I almost cried at how much attention this got. Like I actually showed my parent the stats because I was so excited. Thank you!!!
> 
> This one isn't just about Connor being autistic, but also the mix of autism and PTSD. I'm autistic and have PTSD and they can interact quite a bit, which I saw a lot of in Connor. If I'm overwhelmed from sensory issues, I get upset more easily which can lead to flashbacks, which leads to lower tolerance for noise and touch and so on. So I thought I'd try and mix them up to try and show that.

Before deviating, North hadn't known about snow at all. During that first winter after her escape, it was just in her way as they fought and negotiated and marched. Now, a year after the revolution, she could actually appreciate it a little.

The android community center was alive, with children playing and screaming outside and the adults huddling in piles around the building. North stayed in her room (touch was still... complicated), and just watched out her window. The snow itself was quiet and sparkled where the light hit it. It felt nice to just sit and watch the world without worrying about politics for five minutes. It reminded her of that rooftop overlooking Jericho before the revolution. Maybe Markus’ optimism was finally rubbing off on her.

She smiled.  _ Unlikely. _

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She jumped up from her bed and opened the door a crack. The moment she made eye contact with Connor, he looked away again. He rubbed his hands together as his gaze darted up and down the hallway.

“What's up?” She asked carefully.

He startled, and she frowned. His LED was a deep, pulsing red, and she didn’t need to read his stress levels to see how high they were. Something was obviously wrong.

“I-I believe I am having the, the android equivalent of a panic attack, and all of the guides I found said to find a person to help and... I don't know, this is stupid.”

She huffed. “It's not stupid. Come on, get in here.”

He still hesitated as she opened the door the rest of the way. Normally with the other androids she would have grabbed them to drag them in, but Connor didn't like that. He nearly jumped out of his artificial skin the first time another android touched him without warning. So, he had to come in on his own.

Once inside, she shut the door and pointed at her bed. He sat down on the very edge, fidgeting with a coin in his hands. Every so often he glanced at the window, tensed, and stared back at the floor.

North had exactly no idea what to do. She could barely handle her own panic attacks, as infrequently as they occurred. But she liked Connor; she wanted to be able to help her friend, and it was incredibly frustrating that she couldn't.

He looked at the window again, but this time he was stuck in place. A second later he was shivering and gripping the coin so tight between his fingers he could bend it. North crossed the room and yanked the curtains shut. 

His relief was instantaneous as his LED ticked back down from red to yellow. Not great, but better. Okay. She could do this.

She moved back to the bed and sat beside him. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “I think... I think it's the snow.”

She frowned. “What about it?”

“Can I show you? Talk... talking about it is hard, when I’m like this.”

She reluctantly let the artificial skin on her hand peel back as they connected. The only other person she had done this with was Markus. It still felt weird.

There was a snow storm. North could barely see anything.  _ We were just waiting for the perfect chance to assume control.  _ **_You can't do that!_ ** _ I'm afraid I can, Connor.  _ A weird statue, a flash of light, and a gun pointed at Markus’ back. A flash of a thought, an image of the gun lifting under Connor’s jaw. A millisecond long memory of another android shooting themselves, feeling him die as more snowflakes circled around a rooftop. The gun lowers slowly, and he glances around to see if anyone noticed.

No one had. North certainly hadn't.

“Who was the other android?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything, but his LED flickered red a few more times. They were still connected; if she really wanted to know, she could look. She wouldn’t, it was an invasion of privacy she was unwilling to commit, but she could.

“Simon,” he mumbled.

“He... he shot himself?” Connor nodded, ducking his head down. “And you were connected to him when he did it.”

“Yes. I was trying to, to get information about Jericho, a-and he did it to make sure I couldn’t.”p

“Then how is he...”

Another memory flash of a dark room, lit only by a glowing wall. Simon was held up on the wall, eyes dark and still covered in dried thirium that never evaporated.

“After the revolution I took him from the evidence locker for the deviancy case and found someone who could repair him.”

“You saved him.”

Connor winced. “I tried.”

That explained a lot of things. Still, she couldn’t really hold it against him. None of them really had control before they became deviant. She shook her head, moving to the next point.

“And the gun, at the protest after the military broke off. Does Markus know?” 

“Yes. Cyberlife was able to take control of me, and what you saw was... them trying to trap me so I couldn’t interfere. I was worried it would happen again and want to be prepared.”

“So you're afraid of the snow now.”

“Maybe?” He scowled at the floor. “I don’t know, and it’s frustrating.”

Some androids struggled with deviancy more than others. No one knew why. North didn’t know exactly what happened between Connor and Markus to lead to Connor’s deviancy - she never asked. Much like her, Connor didn’t like information being taken. He liked giving it. She only knew that he came to Jericho a deviant hunter tracking down the leader of the revolution, and not ten minutes later was helping North evacuate the ship. 

North pulled her hand back, breaking the connection. He took a deep unnecessary breath and went back to doing tricks with his coin.

“It took me a long time to sort out which feelings mean what,” she confessed. “I’m still not great at it.”

He furrowed his brow. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“How did you figure it out?”

She shrugged. “Trial and error. Simon helped some, he’s good at that stuff.”

He nodded. “He and Markus told me about the group that meets for androids with... Traits resembling autism in humans,” he said nervously. 

“Oh yeah, Markus mentioned that.”

“I went this past week. I want to go again.”

Connor was still playing with his coin, but the distraction seemed to work. Stress levels down (not all the way, but down), less tense, looking less like he wanted to jump out a window. She wasn’t completely awful at this whole thing.

“You know,” she started slowly. “There’s also a group for androids who... show signs of PTSD. The guy running it was a therapist before.”

She saw his eyes flicker to the window and back down at the floor. “Have you been to it?”

“Yeah. I’m one of the ones who suggested it.”

“Oh.” He paused, rolling the coin across his hand. “Do you think I should go?”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I usually don’t. Sometimes it just helps to know you’re not the only one feeling something.”

“I’d like to go with you, then.”

“Good.”

North pushed herself off the bed and crossed the room to the television on the other side. The thing barely worked - like she ever had time to sit and repair it properly - but it was good enough. She could feel Connor watching her as she flipped it on as well as the game console, and his face when she spun back around with controllers was worth it by itself.

“We found this really old console and a couple games in a junkyard a few weeks ago,” she explained. “I play this one when I’m sad or angry and just replace all the zombies in the game with whoever or whatever upset me. Want to try it?”

He stared at the controller thoughtfully and held his hands out. “I will warn you, when I overload my motor functions decrease so I probably won’t do well.”

“We’ll just set it on easy. That way we can’t shoot each other, and the zombies do less damage. I’ll walk you through it.”

“It would be faster for me to download a guide.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, sitting back down beside him and putting one of the controllers in his hands. “So, the left trigger pushes the zombies away but doesn’t do damage. Right trigger fires whatever weapon you have up; most guns are primary weapons, pistols and melee are secondary. The A button is jump, Y button swaps your weapons, B is to reload guns, and X is to pick things up. This one moves your character, this one moves the camera. This one turns the flashlight on and off.”

He stared down at it, looking overwhelmed. “That’s... a lot.”

“Here, we’ll get some practice in.”

She selected a “Survival” mode and slid back to sit with her back to the wall. No zombies would attack until they clicked on the radio, so he would have plenty of time to experiment with the controls. After a few minutes, he shifted back as well to be closer to her. 

“Can we turn down the volume just a little?” he asked quietly. “Just the guns. Please.”

She looked at him, brows raised. He shook his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. Yeah, we can just go into the settings here, we don’t need to hear them anyway.”

“Thank you.”

Once he was confident, she switched out of it back to “Offline Multiplayer”, making sure it was set to the  _ easy _ difficulty.

“Okay, so now we have to get from where we are to the next safe house. The map is pretty narrow, but if you get lost just look for my character - it’ll have my name above it.”

“What does the safe house look like?”

“A room with a big red door with barred windows.”

“Okay- oh, behind you!”

“There! Yeah, those ones shoot acid at you. Don’t step on the green stuff.”

“One just jumped on me?”

“Okay, it’s dead. Use that health pack you picked up at the start.”

“How do I use it?”

“Hold down the right trigger button until the bar fills up. Yeah, like that.”

It took a little over an hour for them to finish the campaign. Not bad for someone who had never played before, but he  _ was _ built for combat situations. 

“Did you like it?” she asked as the credits rolled. When had he killed so many common infected? She didn’t even know that many  _ spawned  _ in the game!

He thought for a moment before nodding. “It was stressful at first, but in a good way. There are fewer consequences if I make a mistake.”

“And do you feel any better?”

A small smile. “Yes. Can we... play again?”

“You got it. There’s a bunch of maps, we’ll just go in order. The next one’s an amusement park.”

He finally relaxed back next to her with his knees pulled up. She loaded up the next map, stealing a glance over at him. His LED was flickering quickly, but it stayed bright blue. Good. The game had been a risk, with a chance it would just make things worse. She was happy it was helping. It really helped her when they first found it. As he said, there were no real world consequences - she could take her anger out on it, and not have to deal with any clean up later.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She bumped her shoulder against his. “Any time. Are you staying here tonight, or Hank’s?”

“I was planning on going back tonight, but I wasn’t expecting the panic attack,” he admitted. “I might stay here. I just need to call and tell Hank.”

“Good. We can keep playing as long as you need. In a few hours I was going to go meet up with Markus, Josh and Simon for a different game, if you want to come with?”

His smile widened. “I’d like that.”

She grinned. “They’ll be happy to see you. Especially Markus and Simon.”

“What do you mean-”

“-You know  _ exactly _ what I mean. You’re a detective, aren’t you?” she teased. 

He blushed and sputtered. While he was distracted, a pouncing zombie jumped him and he actually  _ squeaked. _ She snorted and burst out laughing, even as her own character was swarmed by common infected.

“You’re adorable.”

He pouted, bumping her shoulder back. “This is sabotage.”

“Yeah, yeah. Oh, grab the gnome, we get a bonus if we carry it through the entire map.”

“Grab the-  _ Why? _ ”

“I don’t know, just grab it. We’ll take turns carrying it. Now keep moving.”

“ _ Fine. _ ”

“After this one we’re playing ‘Versus’ mode. One of us plays the survivor, and the other plays one of the bigger zombies.”

“Like you need  _ more _ help beating me up.”

“It’ll be fun! What did I say about watching the acid?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game they're playing is Left 4 Dead 2. I used to play it all the time during bad mental health days, and it seems right up North's alley. I swear this wasn't originally going to have 800 words of just them playing a video game. I don't know what even happened, but now it's 1,800 words total and I have no idea how I got here.
> 
> Next one will be Connor with Markus and Simon!! I'm going to try getting it out within the next week!


	3. Following Rules - Nines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines is a deviant, but still has trouble with some of his programming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So I really did mean to continue "Just Connor" more than I have. Oops.
> 
> I have a set of chapters ready to go for Autism Acceptance Month, now, as the summary says, including Nines and Sixty. I have about 7 written up so far and I was hoping to get 30 done over time, so... we'll see how *that* part goes, but I'm going to try!
> 
> These chapters will be a bit shorter since they were intended to be a 30-day challenge for myself. If you want to see more from a specific prompt, let me know in the comments and I'll write more for it!

For someone with a supercomputer for a brain, Nines was incredibly rigid. Once he was given an order or made a decision, he could not change it unless it went against a higher priority command. Where Cyberlife intended the RK800 line to deviate and gave them a higher level of freedom in their programming, they built RK900 to be obedient. Even after Markus “woke him up”, he still couldn’t go against the people marked as his superiors.

After learning how much it bothered him, Connor helped him edit how his programming assigned priority levels as they sat at the kitchen table. Hank was nearby in the living room, keeping his ears open in case something went wrong (and with his boys, something usually went wrong). He was only just starting to understand how all their techno shit worked anyway. The game on the TV was muted, even if he didn’t know how much extra noise really affected them, and he kept Sumo out of the way on the couch.

Cyberlife was deleted from the list immediately. Connor wanted to put Nines himself at the top, but Nines was not as fond of the idea.

“What if I make a mistake because I don’t understand the context?” he asked. “Or... Or if they take me back. Then it won’t matter that they aren’t on the list.”

“They can’t take you back. They can’t take any of us anymore.”

“There is no emergency exit in the garden.”

“They... They can’t take you back,” Connor repeated.

Hank winced at the static behind Connor’s voice and glanced over. Nines was staring down at the table, picking at the sleeves of his sweatshirt. There was a pile of the fuzz he’d pulled off in front of him. Connor closed his eyes and leaned forward to brace his elbows on the table and reach his hands up to grab his hair. They were working each other up and ramping up their anxieties. For a moment, he was relieved Sixty was out of the house so he wasn't adding to the mix with his own control issues. 

Again, something usually went wrong with these ridiculously anxious robots. Fuck.

“You two doing okay?” Hank called over.

Nines gave a small nod, but Connor didn’t respond. Hank sighed and nudged Sumo off. As soon as Sumo was awake, he instantly picked up on the boys’ distress and wandered into the kitchen to flop his head into Connor’s lap. The tension went out like a light switch. 

“I’m okay,” Connor mumbled.

“Good. Nines, you just need one person above you, right?”

Nines nodded again, then glanced up at Hank. “Preferably. Could I... put you in that role?”

The moment the words were out, Nines’ eyes went right back to the table. He’d nearly worn a hole in his sleeve from picking at it. 

Shit, these kids had him wrapped around their little fingers.

Hank pushed himself off the couch and shuffled into the kitchen, patting Connor’s shoulder as he passed by to sit in the chair between them. Both androids jumped and stared at him in sync. 

“Hey, I adopted you idiots, didn’t I?” He said with a sigh. “Yeah, put me in. I won’t make you do anything weird.”

“I know you won’t,” Nines said immediately.

That choked him up a bit. Stupid sappy androids. Hank reached over and took his hand, forcing the sleeve out of the way so Nines couldn't rip it apart. They needed to get him a stim toy or something before he destroyed all of his clothes. Connor had his coin and chew necklace, and Sixty always had a rainbow fidget cube in his hands; Nines clearly needed something too. There was a green and orange plastic tangle in a small box in the garage, with tiny teeth marks from a much younger kid. Maybe Nines would want it.

(Cole would want him to have it.)

“Thanks kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can catch me over on my tumblr at connorguerrin.tumblr.com for more Cool Content(TM)


	4. Body Language - Sixty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sixty is trying to search around for case files while pretending to be Connor. Too bad Gavin actually pays attention sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly this one didn't come out as being as much about body language as I intended, but... I like it anyway, so here it is.
> 
> Side note, Nines and Sixty don't work at DPD. Nines got a job at an animal shelter and Sixty is just Trying His Best. Gavin still met Nines, they just don't work together.

“Hey, asshole.”

Sixty froze, counting to three in his head as he closed the drawer of the filing cabinet he was working through. Gavin walked up behind up, swinging his keys on a lanyard, like a jackass.

“I have a name.”

“Yeah, same one as your clone, which is weird, hence _asshole_.”

Shit.

“Just call me Sixty.”

“Nope.”

He groaned. “What do you even want? Don’t you have like, a job you’re almost qualified for to be doing?”

“Depends on what you’re doing down here when I know you _definitely_ know you _don’t_ have a job.”

Ugh. He was hoping Gavin wouldn’t say anything and was just being obnoxious for the sake of it.

“I’m looking for something,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “I have permission.”

Sort of. Hank was the only one who knew Sixty was there. The plan was for Sixty to pretend to be Connor if he got caught. Connor didn’t know, and wouldn’t until after he was done. Hank promised not to tell.

“Is that what the shitty disguise is for?”

“It’s not shitty,” Sixty mumbled. He literally borrowed one of Connor’s obnoxious neon sweaters and wore gloves and makeup to hide the spots where his skin projection wouldn’t load. No one should have been able to tell.

“It is when you have to learn to tell identical people apart,” Gavin said dryly. “It’s pretty obvious. Connor is constantly moving or playing with some stupid shit, and you literally never move.”

“That’s not true.”

“Uh, _yeah_ it is. Look, I’m not here to bust you.”

Sixty frowned. “Then leave me alone. I’m just looking for something, and then I’m gone.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to help, dipshit. That god awful outfit will cover you for some idiots, but Chris’ll pick you out in a second.”

“Ugh, fine. Just don’t get in the way.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Sixty turned back to the files, watching Gavin out of the corner of his eye as the human turned to lean back against one of the other cabinets. The department held digitized copies of every file, but the systems would recognize Sixty due to his serial number, and it would have taken him too long to build a program to trick it. He was lucky they kept paper copies of everything in the event of a technical failure.

“So, what’re you even looking for?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m putting my ass on the line for you, if you had actually been caught you’d have to tell me anyway.”

“Fuck off,” Sixty snapped. “It’s personal.”

“Nines’ll be pissed if I have to arrest you.”

“Stop pretending to give a shit.”

“Your _dad_ would actually kill me in the middle of the office.”

Sixty gripped the drawer so hard he felt the frail metal fold beneath his fingers. “ _Fine._ I’m looking for the files of a case during the revolution.”

A little girl and a woman running away together. When Cyberlife uploaded Connor’s memories into him, they skipped ones they deemed unimportant, or that might trigger deviancy prematurely. That case was left out entirely. He knew RK800 was placed on it, and remembered the argument with Hank right before they received the case, but nothing else. It bothered him. He could ask Connor, but Connor had enough trauma shit without Sixty dragging it all up. He didn’t want Connor to know he was interested anyway. Hank didn’t know much himself - Sixty already asked. 

He just had to know. Had to know if they were alright. They were not in the evidence room when Connor went searching for Jericho. He didn’t know why it bothered him. He didn’t feel anything either way about them. He just had to know.

Gavin sighed dramatically. “Which one?”

“You weren’t working on them, you wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, you being here tells me the one who _was_ working them definitely didn’t know, so just tell me.”

Sixty hesitated, self-conscious as he realized that his body really didn’t move when he wasn’t actively making it do so.

“An android woman and a child,” he admitted quietly. “I know the woman’s model number, but the only file regarding her was an unrelated incident the day before. Her owner only mentions her, not the child.”

“Try looking for YK500.”

Sixty turned to stare at him, and Gavin shrugged, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“I remember Person bitching about it,” he said. “Their owner was gross. I thought she was going to stab him with a pencil.”

Ah. There it was. YK500, registered name Alice. There were three cases linked to her: when her owner reported her missing, when she and the AX400 Kara were found and chased, and a homicide investigation. The last one was post-revolution, listing those two and a third android, all legally registered with a last name, Chapman. They were witnesses, but memory files proved their innocence.

They made it out. They were okay.

“Anything else? Or can I stop aiding a criminal now?”

Sixty set the file back in the drawer and shrugged. “Whatever. And... And thanks.”

Gavin smirked and tapped his arm. “Whatever,” he parroted. “Now get out of here before someone with brain cells notices you.”

“Fuck off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, Sixty is just Trying His Best
> 
> I don't have any written up yet with Kara, Alice and Luther, but they will (hopefully) show up soon :3c


	5. Shutdown - Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is overwhelmed at a crime scene and has a shutdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know "shut down" is typically the phrase used (at least in fandom) for an android dying, or at least powering down, but I'm using it to mean the reaction to being overstimulated an autistic person might experience (http://neurowonderful.tumblr.com/post/81505524603/is-shutting-down-completely-an-autistic-trait). This is based off of my own experiences with shutdowns.

Connor didn’t usually mind working crime scenes. They arrived after the initial rush when fewer people were around, and he could work in peace. He was not used to the scene still being so full of people when he stepped out of the car.

Very loud people.

Everything felt fuzzy, like he was watching it from two steps behind. Error messages popped up telling him there was too much input from the environment, which,  _ yeah, _ he figured that out. The last straw was when he bent down to sample a pool of clear liquid on the floor near the victim, and his processors stalled before analyzing the evidence. His voice box hummed as one hand rose to grab and pull at his hair. It was all too much at once, and he couldn’t filter any of it out.

“Connor, you with me?”

He opened his mouth, but his voice box wouldn’t cooperate to produce the sound to accompany the motion. Frustrated, he jumped back up abruptly, nearly bumping into Hank who stood directly behind him.

“Hey, relax. You okay?”

He shook his head, yanking the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands. It grated on his skin but he needed something to keep out the excess input, anything to slow the information running through his systems.

Hank sighed. “Alright, you got everything you needed from here? We can head back.”

A nod. He couldn’t analyze the sample yet, but once everything just slowed down maybe he could. Or maybe he couldn’t and this would have been a waste of time and-

“Connor, stop. Get back to the car,” Hank ordered quietly. “I’ll be right there.”

A flash of embarrassment stacked on top of everything else and he felt himself shrink as he all but ran back to the car. He made a mistake, he wasn’t supposed to make mistakes. He kept his eyes on the floor and his lavender sneakers. The driver side door slammed shut and he winced at the wave of errors it sent through his vision. 

“Once we get back, you’re on break, got it?” Connor gave a shaky thumbs-up. “Good.”

“Sor, sorry,” he mumbled. His mouth still wouldn’t move, and his voice was laced with painful static, but he pushed through it.

Hank shrugged. “Shit happens.”

Connor nodded and pulled his knees up to his chest. Sitting straight in the seat felt wrong, like he was too big. Hank glanced at him and sighed again, tapping his leg.

“Sit right, for fuck’s sake.”

“I-I-I am more comfo-comfortable like thi-thi-thi-this,” Connor said, wincing again at the lag in his vocal components.

“Connor, please for fucking once do what I say,” Hank ground out.

Connor turned to look at him. He held the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were glued to the busy road in front of them. Connor didn’t need his diagnostics to read Hank’s stress.

_ Oh.  _

Connor stretched his legs back out and settled for picking at the ends of his sleeves.

“So-sor-sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped when you’re feeling like shit,” Hank apologized softly. “Just... Just don’t fuck around in the car, okay? And stop talking, it obviously hurts like hell.”

Connor gave another thumbs up, extending his arm so Hank could see without having to completely turn to see him. As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Hank reached over and ruffled his hair. Another set of errors went up, but they came in slower and quieter than even a few minutes before. His systems were repairing themselves and sorting through the data once the level of input was decreased. By the end of his forced break, he would be fine, and perhaps the sample would even be logged properly.

Connor closed his eyes until he felt the car roll to a stop in the parking lot.

“You staying out here?” He nodded. “‘Kay. I’m here if you need me.”

He bent his legs back up to his chest and pulled his arms back out of his sleeves to hug himself inside the cocoon of his sweater. His systems slowly filed away the error messages and they disappeared from his interface one by one. After twenty minutes, the progress bar on his sample analysis program inched forward. His sensors still ached, but he could think again. He was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank is Trying His Best and I love him


	6. Auditory Processing - Sixty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Sixty just can't process what other people are saying. The words go into his systems and then go nowhere. Markus wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be up several days ago but March/April are really busy where I work and I forgot :') BUT here's this. I admittedly have not proof read this chapter in a few weeks so I apologize ahead of time for typos or weird sentences.

When Sixty died in Cyberlife Tower, there were no bodies for him to jump to. The technicians destroyed every spare RK800 model - except for him. He only survived because Cyberlife was too stupid to shut down their servers, hoping to get a final data package from the deviant RK800, and Sixty’s memories were uploaded with barely any time to spare before he was shot point blank in the head.

After the revolution, the government went in with the androids to search the tower for any other androids. Connor was thorough in his mission, but he might have missed something.

They found Sixty. 

Connor discovered his memories in the server.

The androids forced Cyberlife to release his body and data, repaired him, and set him free.

Even six months later, Sixty wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing. His central processor was severely damaged by the  _ bullet to the face _ , but he was completely functional. He already expected errors and glitches and bugs due to being a prototype - Connor had them too - they were just more... severe. 

“Are ... olin seen ee?” 

Sometimes the program that received the data from his auditory processors crashed, and if he could hear anything at all he certainly couldn’t analyze it into any language. It was annoying. Neither humans nor androids enjoyed repeating themselves, and assumed if he needed them to it was because he wasn’t listening in the first place.

“What,” he replied automatically, staring at the wall behind Markus.

“I asked if you were listening. You spaced out for a few minutes,” Markus teased.

Sixty tensed, staring at him to avoid making eye contact with anyone else sitting around the conference table. “I was listening. Sorry.”

Markus frowned, but kept going on about whatever senate bill he’d been sent.

_ >Request(Message); _

_ >identifySerial(‘RK200’,Designation:’Markus’); _

_ >reassignName(‘Markus’=’Markus’) _

_ //Comment: Official assignment of designations still requires Cyberlife approval. Please include the reassignName command with any identification protocols to ensure your display shows the correct name until rights to self-determination become law on March 1st, 2040. If someone is not changing their designation, put their name in both spaces to ensure consistency in the protocol. _

_ >Accept:Y/N _

Oh for fuck’s sake. Sixty huffed and accepted the message request.

_ >Y _

_ ‘Is everything okay?’ _

_ ‘Yeah? Audio just doesn’t work sometimes. I don’t always notice.’ _

_ ‘Is it an issue with the component or program?’ _

_ ‘No fucking idea.’ _

Markus smirked, even as he kept talking.  _ ‘I see you’re picking up Hank’s mannerisms.’ _

_ ‘Human adaptability is one of my features,’  _ he snarked, mocking Connor’s more upbeat tone.

_ ‘Fair. I’d like to talk about the audio after the meeting, if you can stick around.’ _

_ ‘Yeah, whatever.’ _

The link between them closed and Sixty rolled his shoulders back to appear neutral again. The meeting didn’t run very long after their conversation, and he knew Connor could fill him in on any missing details later, so he didn’t bother trying to recalibrate his system. He hadn’t told Connor about the issues with his audio, but clearly the other RK800 knew something was up. It wasn’t built into them to idle or daydream.

“Tha poorally good for right now, I don’t know about all of you but if I have to read any more legal-speak I’m going to scream,” Markus joked as Sixty’s receptors slowly came back on. “Sixty, can you show me that message you got earlier? I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Sixty frowned and stood to follow Markus out of the conference room and into the adjoined office. Once the door was shut, he folded his arms across his chest, subconsciously scanning for exits. His programming did it automatically, even when he didn’t want it to.

“What message?”

Markus smiled. “The one I sent. I wanted to keep this private, unless you wanted everyone to know. So, what is wrong with your audio?”

Sixty shrugged, stepping further into the room so his voice wouldn’t be heard outside. The office was sound-proofed on both sides, but still. Maybe he was just paranoid.

“When they fixed me, I think there were some things they couldn’t fix, or someone screwed up more,” he mumbled. “The hearing is one of them.”

“I see. And you can’t tell if it’s the program or the component?”

“Not for certain. Troubleshooting seems to indicate it is a programming issue caused by prior installation of non-compatible pieces on both sides. They fixed the components, but the program can’t always understand the data.”

Markus winced. “And any attempts at repairing the code would only cause more damage as your other systems have already adapted.”

“You’ve seen it before?” he asked cautiously.

Markus nodded and turned to point to one of his receptors, where the skin overlay was a slightly different tone. An extra component attached to the outside; most humans would never recognize it, but an android could spot it immediately. 

“When I broke my programming, I was shot in the head and thrown in a landfill,” Markus explained solemnly. “One of the bullets hit near my audio component. I was able to replace it as I escaped, along with a number of other parts, but it was only partially compatible. By the time we were freed and I could have the replacement parts properly repaired, my systems had already adjusted to them. It would have been too intensive and time-consuming to try and calibrate new replacement parts so I use this piece to compensate instead.”

“And it... helps?”

“Yes, it boosts lower sounds and processes some language for me. I only use it when absolutely necessary, as in meetings, especially with humans.”

Sixty nodded, rubbing his hands together. “Is there any other way to help it? I’m just tired of asking people to repeat themselves and getting yelled at.”

Markus laughed and held his hand out. Sixty took it without hesitation. He was paranoid, yes, but Connor trusted Markus, so Sixty did as well. The interface sparked between them, and Sixty felt Markus shifting and adding code, small command lines in his base programming. When Markus pulled his hand away, Sixty blinked, trying to analyze it.

“What did you do?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

As Markus spoke, Sixty’s HUD displayed Markus’ words with only microseconds of lag. He narrowed his eyes and Markus grinned at his expression.

“You gave me subtitles,” he answered flatly.

“Yes. Androids automatically log their words anyway. The command I added just takes that in wirelessly so you can just read what they say when your receptors cut out. It isn’t as much help for humans, but it takes what your audio does take in and processes it in a separate program and puts them into subtitles so they can be more easily understood.”

The subtitles filled up the bottom of his vision, even as the image behind them went blurry. He didn’t need to be fixed-

His sensors pinged as Markus stepped closer, clapping a hand on his shoulder but thankfully nothing more.

“I take it you like them?” he teased. 

Sixty smiled. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more posts/gifs I've made about DBH and autistic Connor specifically, come chat with me on tumblr: connorguerrin.tumblr.com


End file.
